


Arcangelo Rizzo

by Shadowwriting



Series: First Gen-Own Universe [3]
Category: Original Work
Genre: F/M, M/M, Original Characters - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-10
Updated: 2013-05-10
Packaged: 2017-12-11 11:13:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,260
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/798067
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shadowwriting/pseuds/Shadowwriting
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The backstory for Arcangelo, a fairly important characters, counted among the main characters.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Arcangelo Rizzo

Arcangelo crouched in the doorway to his room, peeking through the keyhole and clutching his small sketchbook and nub of a pencil. Mamma never let him have anything too big or too sharp. He was still little after all. But for now Arcangelo needed to be very quiet, because Babbo was home, early. That meant something bad...

“Iolanda!” Leonardo’s voice rang out, looking for Mamma. Arcangelo tried to stop his lip from trembling, and bit it instead. When Babbo went past his room he quickly, and quietly slithered under his bed, all the while keeping his sketchbook close to him. Babbo didn’t like that Arcangelo was an artist, Arcangelo was his son, and should be learning something manly. It didn’t matter to Leonardo that men were usually wonderful artists in Italy.

“Babbo!” Camilla’s voice came from her bedroom, Arcangelo imagined the door wide open and the pretty mint green walls covered in papers. She always shut the door before he could see the papers. His sister didn’t like him, just like Babbo didn’t like him.

“My girl!” Leonardo said, Arcangelo imagined him opening his arms for Camilla, the same way Mamma did for him. And again Arcangelo wondered where Mamma was, she had sent him to his room, about two hours ago he thought, looking at the sunlight streaming through his window. Mamma had taught him how to tell time by the sunlight, because Leonardo didn’t like clocks. “Where is your Madre, Tesoro?”

“I don’t know Babbo, she was around a couple hours ago.” Arcangelo imagined Camilla curling her lip as she said the next sentence. “Teaching Arcangelo to be an artist.” Camilla said, Arcangelo heard her feet land on the floor as he imagined Leonardo raising an eyebrow.

“Oh really?” Babbo asked, Arcangelo started to shake a bit, and slipped out from under the bed, then quietly opened his desk and hid his sketchpad in a false bottomed drawer, just like Mamma taught him. Heavy footsteps approached his door and Arcangelo made an effort to stop shaking and pick up his big pencil, and workbook, he spread it on the floor, instead of the desk, then went to work on doing his arithmetic. The doorknob rattled and Leonardo opened it, with Camilla sneering right behind him.

“Piacere Babbo!” He said, standing up and holding his hands behind his back.

“Where is it?” Leonardo asked, his voice had a dangerous tone in it and Arcangelo tried not to flinch.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about Babbo.” Arcangelo said, pretending to be confused.

“You know maledizione well what I am talking about.” Leonardo snarled, raising his hand, just before it hit Arcangelo and would’ve forced him to hit the dark blue walls a woman came around the corner, leaning heavily on the wall, she was breathing heavy and blushing from exertion.

“Don’t you atterrie hurt my son.” Iolanda said, reaching out to grab Leonardo’s arm. He brought it down just as she touched it, and therefore brought her down as well, she landed on the workbook Arcangelo had been using the moment before, and the pencil. SHe winced in pain but didn’t say anything, she was used to pain, ever since her Bambino, Arcangelo was born she lived in pain, never quite recovering. Her husband’s constant need for sex didn’t quite help either.

“Nice of you to join us Iolanda.” Leonardo sneered, Camilla sighed and tugged her father’s hand, it was so boring now, she had been wishing Arcangelo would get hurt. But Mamma always stopped that from happening.

“Come on Babbo, I want to show you my homework so you can tell me if it’s bravo!” She said, Leonardo spared one more glance to his wife on the floor, his son kneeling beside her and picked up his daughter, making her giggle.

“bene, bene.” He said and took her down the hall to her own room. Iolanda pulled herself up using the desk chair and then collapsed into it.

“That man will be the morte of me.” She said, then opened her arms, Arcangelo crawled into her lap and curled there, comforted by the flowing sleeves of his mother’s dress as she put her arms around him. 

“There there bambino” She said, patting his hair with her hand, Arc stayed hidden in the fabric of her sleeves. Iolanda resisted a cough and sung to her son, Rockabye baby.

“Mamma?” Arcangelo asked after a little while. “Why does Babbo and Camilla hate me?” He looked up at her with blue eyes that she thought looked much too old in his six year old face.

“I don’t know Bambino, I don’t know.” Iolanda said, with identical blue eyes, sad, and much too old for her age as well.

“Ti amo Mamma.” Arcangelo said, snuggling into his mother’s sleeves again, she smiled sadly and patted his dark brown hair down.

“Ti amo troppo Bambino.” She said, glancing down at him, holding back her tears. Iolanda knew one thing for certain, she wasn’t long for the world, and soon, soon her amatissimo son would have no one to protect him from Camilla and Leonardo. She was scared for him. So scared...

*****

Arcangelo stood by his mother’s grave, just as he had stood by her bedside the past few months. Six months ago his mother had become completely bedridden. Arcangelo knew Camilla was glad that their mother was gone, she had her face hidden in Leonardo’s jacket, and a little black dress an inch away from being slutty, but Arcangelo knew she was hiding a smirk. That’s the only reason she was hiding in their father’s jacket, not cause she was crying, but because she was smirking, and the little sounds she made weren’t sobs, they were laughing. Oh yes, she was glad Iolanda was gone.

Leonardo wasn’t grieving much either, he was solemn of course, but he had lost his wife years ago, back when he no longer came home to a beautiful woman wearing a pretty dress, helping Camilla with homework, and putting the finishing touches on dinner. After his son had been born Leonardo came home to his daughter trying to cook and his wife wasting away, locked in the room he had prepared for Arcangelo. Even now he couldn’t look at the son his wife had spoiled. If he had raised Arcangelo he would be a strapping ten year old boy, interested in all of the things his father was interested in. But no, he wasn’t there enough to stop his damned wife from spoiling the boy. Once the priest stopped talking and the coffin was lowered he went to Arcangelo, wondering if he could undo ten years of whatever Iolanda had done. Camilla followed him, making a show of wiping her face with the black handkerchief she’d swiped from his pocket.

“Let’s go.” He said, voice gruff so people would believe his show of grief, like they were believing his daughter’s. She was a wonderful actress.

“Addio Mamma.” Arcangelo whispered, and tried not to wince when his father clapped a large hand over his shoulder, with an iron grip. Arcangelo was certain he would not be coming back to the cemetery in a long time, not if his father had anything to say about it.

*****

Arcangelo pretended not to hear the fighting outside, pretended not to notice that a vase smashed on his door. Camilla had come home late again, three in the morning, and she was high, drunk, and pissed off.

“I told you Midnight sharp Camilla!” Leonardo’s voice rang out, Arcangelo could imagine it was red from anger, and splotchy. He imagined that each time he yelled the extra chins on Leonardo’s neck moved,  
Arcangelo stopped imagining and realized he was sketching it. 

Then he thought of how his sister would look, she would be wearing her red leather dress, with the corset lacing up the sides, he knew cause she had made him fix it for her last weekend. The lacing would be entirely undone on the left side, Marco, her most recent squeeze liked to untie that side before fucking her, after he had shot her up with heroin. It was the only way Camilla would sleep with him. Of course, the dress was so short Marco didn’t need to bother with the lace, but he enjoyed Camilla’s tits too much, speaking of, those would be spilling out of the dress, one would probably be showing the nipple, or at least ariola. A sign she hadn’t spent much time putting it back on before running out of Marco’s flat. She always got out of there quick, stopped by the pharmacy, got a morning after pill and then went home. Arcangelo tapped his pencil to his lip thoughtfully, would she still be wearing her underwear? Probably not, she often came home without them, he would hear her screaming about it from her bedroom. Often to him, cause he did the laundry. And lastly he drew her face, the lipstick was smeared, eyeliner streaked, from sweat, and the tears. Camilla always cried when she fought with their father. Her blonde hair, still semi in the bun from the night before would be coming out of it, stringy around her forehead, and in the back, an entire half of the bun would be laying on her shoulder from where Marco had pulled her hair.  
Arcangelo frowned, remembering when he had come home from school to witness his sister, doped up and being fucked into the couch. He never sat on that couch again. Camilla had been too out of it to notice, but Marco had noticed, and winked to Arcangelo with a lick of his lips, before thrusting with all his worth into Camilla, Arcangelo almost puked on the floor.

“I am seventeen!” Camilla slurred and Arcangelo tuned into the fight again, even though it was the same old same old. 

“You’re too young to be whoring around!” Leonardo said, Arcangelo heard footsteps as his father walked closer to his siter. “Should I teach you what happens to whores?” He asked, and Arcangelo heard a pained shriek, he imagined Leonardo holding his sister’s hair, painfully tight and stretching the skin of her neck over the muscles. “I don’t have to though, you already know, but you still need to be taught a lesson don’t you?” Leonardo said, and Arcangelo imagined him unlacing what was left of Camilla’s dress so that it fell off her, he could hear the rustle of fabric as it hit the floor. It was about that time he reached for the CD player and headphones his grandmother gave him for Christmas about a year ago, in secret of course. Just before the music played he could hear Camilla screaming for Mercy and the thud as she hit the floor, then a second thud as his father dropped to his knees over her. Arcangelo didn’t realize he had sketched out the entire image, of his father, zipper down, dick out, leaning over his sister. He quickly threw it away and resisted the urge to puke on his beige rug. His father would make him clean it up with a toothbrush if he did. Instead Arcangelo put on the headphones and huddled into bed. 

At six he woke to Camilla bursting into his room, she had broken the lock six times before, Arcangelo had always had a friend come fix it, but after the last time, he said fuck it, and let her burst in whenever. She was still wearing her makeup from the night before and smoking a cigarette. Arc coughed before looking up with bleary eyes. It was a Saturday, no school, and therefore, no reason for her to burst in the room. Camilla flopped herself in his desk chair, straddling it in her short skirt, which rode up more with the motion. Arcangelo kept his eyes face level. She rolled forward and stopped just in front of him.

“Can I help you?” He asked. She took a drag and blew it into his face. He struggled not to cough.

“Babbo’s passed out on the floor, fucked me, and then after he blew his load went right down. Call into his work and tell ‘em he’s sick.” She said, then stood up, almost kicking Arcangelo in the face when she swung her leg over the back of the chair. “By the way, Marco is coming over tonight while Babbo is with his gross ass friends. So, if you can, buzz out. You’ll harsh my mellow if you stay here.” Camilla pulled the door shut after her and locked it, with the skill only she seemed to be able to pull off, considering as she broke it in the first place. Arcangelo heard her kicking Leonardo in the other room, telling him to get his sorry ass off the floor and to bed.

Arcangelo sighed and picked up the extension in his room, calling the law firm Leonardo worked at and telling them he was sick, and yes, he knew it was the twelfth call this month, and yes he knew Leonardo had used all his sick days, and yes, he was positive Leonardo really was sick and not just faking it, no, thank you sir, yes he will be in on Monday. He put the phone down and thought about calling one of his friends, but no, no one would be able to take him on such short notice. So he thanked god for the lock and CD player, he didn’t need to hear his sister having sex with her boyfriend.

*****

Arcangelo’s grandmother was a kind soul, even if she was short, old, wrinkly, and smelled permanently of peppermint. Arcangelo still preferred the smell of lavender though, his Mamma’s scent. 

“Put that out right now young lady.” Lauretta said, walking to her granddaughter surprisingly fast and pulling the cigarette out of her mouth. She crushed it under her bare heel and glared up at Camilla. “I will not tolerate that filth in my house.” She said, hitting Camilla in the shins with her cane and walking back to stand beside Arcangelo, muttering about toxins and ungrateful children. Camilla turned her lip up at the old woman and crossed her arms over the slight baby bump she had. One missed pill a couple months ago and her life was toast, at least how she viewed it. Apparently Marco had viewed it that way too, because as soon as she told him, he hightailed it to America. 

It had been four months since Leonardo had hung himself in the kitchen, the guilt from rapping his daughter repeatedly had caught up with him, once he had sobered up, and not only that but the horror that his son was gay, an artist, and he had been a horrible father. Well he figured he had only one choice, to swing from the rafters in the kitchen. Camilla had cried, balling her eyes out and screaming for him to come back. She would be a better daughter, make Arcangelo be a better son, anything. But they had buried Leonardo and had to leave the house. And now they were in their Grandmother Lauretta’s house. Lauretta had forsaken her last name, saying she didn’t think anyone needed to bother with it. She only used it to pay the bills, what little she had. Iolanda’s mother lived very naturally, what lights she needed were either candles, or battery powered, she used the water from a stream outside and cooked over a fire. She only used indoor plumbing for hygiene conveniences, and heating in the winter.  
Camilla sneered at Arcangelo once Lauretta was in the house, starting dinner. She followed a moment later, oopsing when she ‘accidently’ pushed Arcangelo into the garden wall, which was full of thorny bushes and hard bricks.

“Sorry, baby must’ve gotten in the way.” She placed a fake loving hand over the bump and smirked as she walked in. Arcangelo untangled himself and walked in as well, closing the door to the little house and picking thorns out of his jacket.

*****

Camilla cried the first time she held her baby, not because she loved it, but because she didn’t want it. She shoved it at Arcangelo and curled up, screeching because of the pain but not caring. Arcangelo took the baby out of the room and rocked it, smiling a little. She was his niece, and she was perfect. So perfect. He glanced back at Camilla’s room, just as Loretta came out, she took the baby from him and rocked her. Arcangelo could sense a steely determination in Lauretta as she cared for the baby.

“We’ll name her Iolanda, I don’t care what Camilla says. And we will keep the baby.” She said, older, wise blue eyes identical to Arcangelo’s boring into his own. He nodded and patted the light hair on his niece's head.

“Of course.” He said, smiling at Lauretta.

Camilla moved out of the house when she was eighteen, into a new boyfriend’s apartment. She had only spent four months with her baby, and the entire time she had been high. Almost dropping baby Iolanda into the fire twice. Postpartum Depression, that’s what the doctors had said, and then warned Arcangelo and Lauretta to keep a close eye on Camilla. And they did. When Camilla was kicked out of her boyfriend’s she came back, and she would get drunk, and to protect Lauretta and Iolanda, Arc would take the brunt of all her anger.

*****

Lauretta handed Arcangelo plane tickets on his fifteenth birthday. He frowned and looked her, holding his two year old neice.

“I don’t understand...” He said, shifting Iolanda to his left hip.

“Leave.” Lauretta said, eyes kinda and gentle as she touched his lip, recently split in yet another fight with Camilla.

“BUt...” Arcangelo looked toward the door, checking for Camilla.

“Uncle gotta go...” Iolanda said, lowering herself to the floor and shaking back long black hair, her yellow eyes looked up at him. “Mamma do bad fings, but Uncle can’t potesct sus foeva.” She said, letting Lauretta pick her up. The old woman nodded.

“I have somewhere safe to go and take her with me.” Lauretta said, and motioned around her little house. “I suppose your sister will turn this into a whorehouse.” She said and then walked to the back room where she and Iolanda slept. “You leave tomorrow.” She said, and closed the door, lock clicking into place. Arcangelo went to his own room, and packed. He knew Camilla wouldn’t be back until tomorrow, and she would be too high for a fight. And just collapse on her bed in a daze, or she would pass out in the doorway. He put the little sketch book in the false bottom of his suitcase, along with his money and other things, but compared to those, the sketchbook, his only remaining piece of his mother was his most valuable thing to him.

*****

Arcangelo wandered around the little store, hiding a bruised eye from the cute workman. He knew Oscar was watching him, he always watched him. But usually his bruises from Cameron weren’t so obvious. He bit his lip and swore under his breath when he was so distracted he ran into a shelf, knocking tons of things over. Oscar was there in a flash.

“Looks like you might be in a little trouble.” The feline smirked and held out his hand to shake. “Would you like some help? I’m Oscar.”

“Thanks, I’m uh, Arcangelo...but you can call me Arc.” Arcangelo shook the offered hand. “Pleased to meet you.”

**Author's Note:**

> All Italian words were gotten from Google Translate.


End file.
